


tear

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Crying, Dacryphilia, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Humiliation, Lowercase, Other, POV Second Person, Smut, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 22:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: in which you, the reader, make john cry, but in a sexy way.





	tear

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for me really this is very self indulgent  
> just putting out here for any other john hoes who like seeing boys cry  
> final warning  
> theres crying in this fic due to heavy humiliation. youve been warned.

it's beyond easy to make john cry. he's much different to the other boys in that you barely even have to touch him. you'll be kissing; he'll be sitting in your lap, legs wrapped around your waist. your lips will move from his mouth to his jawline, down his neck and across his collarbones. you scatter hickies across the sensitive skin, sucking and biting. you want everyone to see him to know who's he is. he seems to be liking the slightly rough treatment; far too often people treat him like he's made of glass, which you think is why he gets so excited when you give him a good rough handling. you reach up without breaking the  kiss and tangle a hand in his hair, pulling on it roughly. he moans into your mouth, rolling his hips against yours in the vague hope for some friction on his quickly hardening cock. you pull away from him, scolding him quietly.    
"shshsh, darling. be patient, or i won't give you anything."   
he whines again, blushing furiously, avoiding your eyes. you hold his chin with your fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze.    
"do you understand?" you ask levelly, and he nods. you take the hand that was in his hair and hold it out as a warning. he swallows thickly and looks away.    
"dirty whore," you whisper, before delivering a swift, sharp slap to his face. he cries out, half a sob, half a moan. you smirk, flipping you both around so you're on top of him. you straddle his hips, laying across him, mouth right against his ear.    
"you really are such a dirty slut. don't you think? such a filthy whore. bet all you want is a good fucking, hm?"    
he writhes beneath you, whimpering softly. you chuckle and stroke his cheek with a finger. he's painfully hard beneath you, bucking his hips up against you, trying desperately to gain some friction. you tut at him.    
"such a desperate bitch. grinding up on me like you deserve pleasure. you exist to please, understand?" you hiss in his ear, and he grabs at you. you slap his hands away. he nods, avoiding your eyes.    
"stop," he whines, and you scoff at him.   
"we both know you don't really want that, dont we, my pet?"    
you both know that he knows the safeword. he's loving this. if he wasn't, he'd use it.    
"we both know you're getting off on being told what a filthy slut you are. hearing me tell you how worthless you are to me only makes you hard. what a fucking dirty whore. you know it, i know it, everyone knows it. you're a slut." you spit out each of the consonants, getting right in his face. he looks away from you, breathing shaky. you deliver another hard slap to his cheek, which makes him moan.    
"look at me when im talking to you!" you demand, and he meets your gaze with shining eyes.    
"you don't deserve to even look at me. you're lucky i don't force you to look at the floor whenever we're together."    
he takes a deep, shaky breath and struggles to hold your gaze. you tap his lips with one finger and he opens them obediently. you know he's expecting to suck on your fingers by the way he opens his mouth, eager and excited. you draw your hand away, shaking your head at him.    
"you think you deserve that? psh."   
at the very back of your mind you apologise for what you're about to do, but you know he's going to like it. you both are. you sit up straight and pause for a moment, just to let him wonder, and then you spit directly in his face. he recoils, looking hurt.    
"why did you do that?" he says, voice childlike and shaky. he reaches up to wipe his face but you slap his hand away. you know he's only seconds from breaking.   
"to show you how little you mean to me," you reply coolly, and you can see him struggling. his eyes fill with fresh tears and his lip shakes. you know he's just there.   
"what's this?" you laugh as a tear falls down his face. "tears? crying like a little bitch, are we? im not surprised. little whores like you always cry when they don't get what they want."    
further tears fall down his cheeks and you slap him once more, and the noise he makes is one you'll commit to memory for a very long time. it's midway between a violent sob and an immensely pleasured moan, and you can feel a warm, wet spot growing beneath your ass. his hips buck up against you, desperate for friction as his orgasm takes you both my surprise

“did you just fucking come?”

he looks at you, mortified, and nods slowly. you shake your head, giving him another quick slap for good measure. it makes him whimper. 

“did i say you could come?”

a sob breaks in his chest then, and he starts to cry in earnest. 

“n--no,” he gets out shakily. he can't look at you, utterly ashamed of himself. he opens his mouth as if to speak multiple times, but only broken sobs come out. his red face and teary eyes, the frantic quickening of his breath, all make your heart speed up. 

“i can't even look at you,” you spit venomously, shaking your head. you fix him with a look of disgust, despite the arousal pooling between your legs. you get off him, not even turning to look at him as you leave. he cries after you, begging you pathetically not to leave, breath coming very fast and uneven. you leave the room, making sure to slam the door as loud as you can. you press yourself against the door and frantically shove a hand down the front of your jeans. you know there's only a short window of time before he gets overwhelmed and calls out the safeword. you don't need much, though: less than a minute of your hand on yourself before you're coming, legs shaking, his sobs from behind the door like music to your ears. you brace yourself against the door as you ride out your orgasm, a pleasured moan falling from your lips. you can still hear him crying, breath getting more and more uneven, and you think maybe you should go in there and calm him down, but then, you know he'd safeword if he needed you. so you take your time in going to the bathroom and washing your hands, taking a washcloth and dampening it in warm water. you go to the kitchen and fill a glass of water for him; he'll be dehydrated. and then, like clockwork, just as you're making your way back to the bedroom, you hear his shaky voice calling out your name, followed by your safeword, fast and frantic and over and over and over. you rush into the bedroom, hushing him before you're even through the door. you set the water and the washcloth on the nightstand, climbing onto the bed and whisking him up into your arms. 

“shh, shh, my angel. it's okay, my darling. it's alright, love. shh, shh.” he grips on tight to your shirt, sobbing into your shoulder as you stroke his back.

“take a breath, my love. take a breath. that's it. good boy. keep that breath going.” you carry on like this until his breath returns to normal and his sobs peter out into soft whines and whimpers. you strip him off slowly, kissing every inch of his newly exposed flesh. 

“i love you,” kiss, “i care about you,” kiss, “i need you,” kiss, “you're beautiful,” kiss, “you mean everything to me,” kiss. 

once he's naked, you start to wipe him down, one hand always holding his. his hot, eager fingers clutch yours like a child's. you kiss his hand softly once you've finished wiping him down, throwing the washcloth into the hamper.

he clutches at your clothes desperately once you lay down with him. he buries his face in your neck. he's silent. worryingly silent. you think you might've pushed him too far. 

“john?” you mumble into his hair, rubbing his back softly. he looks up at you with wide eyes. 

“you know i love you, don't you? i didn't really mean any of that.” 

he nods, flashing you a smile. you know it's genuine. 

“i know,” he says, voice hoarse and shaky. you kiss his forehead gently, holding him close. 

“i love you,” you say into his hair.

“i love you too,” he whispers, and you know he means it.


End file.
